Marge

[…] And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, / Where thou thyself dost air [...]

[F]lowers that in perennial blow / Round the moist marge of Persian fountains cling; […]

So be it: there no shade can last / ⁠In that deep dawn behind the tomb, / ⁠But clear from marge to marge shall bloom / The eternal landscape of the past; / A lifelong tract of time reveal'd; […]

Upon an easy slope it lies at large, / And scarcely overlaps the long curved crest / Which swells out two leagues from the river marge, […]

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; / It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." / And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum: / Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Or probably all meals coalesced with him in an orgy of thick bread-and-marge and an array of sauce-bottles.

Had four bills and I bought me a car / Little red whip that I bought for my marge

I think about my family too. My dad and his failing heart. My marge and her church. I think about what they'll do once I'm gone. Think about the way out, the blue space above.